ROBERT  BELCHER 


.._,. 


A  Chorus  of  Leaves 


(  UNIVERSITY   ) 

OF 


\  Chorus  of  Leaves 


From  a  painting  by 
William  Keith 


Paul  Elder  and  Co 
Publishers,  San  co 


A  Chorus  of  Leaves 


by 

Charles  G.  Blanden 


Paul  Elder  and  Company 
Publishers,  San  Francisco 


> 


BELCHER 

11  c  L 


fl 


Copyright.    1905 
Paul  Elder  and  Company 
San  Francisco 


The  Torooye  Pre« 
San  Franciico 


Dedication.  £ 

Chorus  or 
Leaves. 

To   Wallace  Rice. 

Thou  jealous  guarder  of  the  Muse's  realm, 
With  ever-watchful  eye  unto  her  good, 
Strict  altar-beeper  in  the  sacred  wood, 
That  no  rude  comer  may  her  overwhelm, 
I  pray  thee  (since  unto  these  shores  my  helm 
And  urgent  gales  have  brought  me  o'er  the  flood 
Of  rampant  seas)  that  I  with  many  a  bud 
Of  fancy  and  with  bow  of  fairy  elm, 
May  shoot  a  fragrant  arrow  in  her  sl^y, 
And  herald  so  a  heart  has  loved  her  long, 
That  now  would  worship,  ere  in  earth  it  lie 
And  answer  not  to  any  spur  of  Song;  — 
Therefore,  I  come,  and  on  these  sands  of  time 
Break  at  thy  feet  this  little  bale  of  rhyme. 


in 


174556 


Contents. 


Dedication,  to  Wallace  Rice    - 

Awake ! 

If  I  Were  Love       - 

March      ----- 

The  Torch  of  Lore         - 

The  Awakening  - 

If  Love  Be  There  - 

Anacreon 

The  Time  O*  Year 

Here  and  Hereafter    -         -         - 

Love  Was  Coming  Down  the  Lane  - 

Lo !  Now  the  Sun      -         -         - 

Till  Joy  Goes  By 

The  Storm         - 

Blow  Gently,  Soul  of  Winds 

There  Ever  Is  Time    -         -         - 

The  Song  Maker 

1  he  Wings  of  Time    - 

And  When  My  Petals  Fall      - 

The  Lost  Rose 

Poverty          -         - 

A  Turkish  Love  Song 

The  Lover     -         -         -         -         - 

Love  and  Poesy 

Fear  Not 

Send  Round  the  Cup 

In  Season 

Cupid,  at  Me  Laughing 

The  Woman  Speaks       - 

Ashes  of  Dreams         - 

Occupied       -         -         -         -         - 

Roses 

Hyssop  - 

Immunity 

The  House    ------ 

Violet 

I  Question  Not        - 

The  Old  Moon 

The  Wreath 

A  Fairy  Song    -         -         -         - 

Wingless        - 


3 
4 
6 
7 
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27 
28 
29 
30 
31 
32 
33 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 
39 
40 
41 
42 
43 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 


v] 


A          Griselda 44 

Chorus  of          To  Pygmalion        •-••.-...45 
Leave*.          Where  Sleep  the  Leaves      -»••...         4$ 

¥  Little  Live*  '-         .         .         .     47 

Delusion  .....         48 

To  Be  Immortal     -         -         -         ->-         .         .         .         -49 

Bring  Hither  Your  Roses      -------50 

Love  Knows          -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -52 

Fin. 53 


VI 


Awake! 

Leaves. 

Awake,  ye  woods, 
Ye  fields,  awake, 

Ye  solitudes 

Sweet  music  make; 

Come,  birds,  and  sing, 

Bees,  forth  on  wing, 
|  For  soft  the  winds  do  blow; 

I  Sing,  sing,  sing  liberty — 

I  Sing  liberty  and  joy 

And  freedom  from  the  snow. 

I  Awake,  ye  buds, 

And,  grass,  arise, 
To  welcome  floods 

From  April  skies. 
O  brooks,  forget 
Your  chains  and  let 
Your  merry  music  flow! 
I  Sing,  sing,  sing  liberty  — 

Sing  liberty  and  joy 
And  freedom  from  the  snow. 

Awake,  my  heart, 

'Tis  time  you  should 
With  winter  part 

In  time  so  good; 
Come,  join  the  throng 

in 


A  And  swell  the  song 

Chorus  of 

Leav«.  That  all  the  world  may  know; 

Q  Sing,  sing,  sing  liberty  — 

Sing  liberty  and  joy 
And  freedom  from  your  woe. 


2] 


If  I  Were  Love.  lruso( 

Leaves. 

Would  I  were  Love!   my  joy  should  be 
Ever  to  linger  near  to  thee. 
Sleeping,  on  roses  I  would  lie 
In  the  bright  summer  of  thine  eye; 
Waking,  perchance  I  would  go  hide 
In  the  heart-chambers  of  thy  side, 
And  give  thee,  oh,  such  little  frights, 
For  love,  thou  couldst  not  sleep  o'  nights. 


3] 


March. 

Leaves. 

When  March  his  lusty  trumpet  blows 

Throughout  our  valleys  drear, 
The  scattered,  old,  affrighted  snows 

Like  phantoms  disappear. 
Lo!  now  the  watercourses  shout, 

And  soon  their  banners  gay, 
The  royal  grasses  shaking  out, 

Shall  glad  the  face  of  day. 

Bold  bugler  of  the  sun's  return, 

Whose  note  the  heart  inspires, 
In  whose  brave  eyes  such  glories  burn 

As  dazzle  mortal  lyres, 
Blow  up  thy  merry  legions  strong, 

And  this  sad  realm  invest 
With  bud,  with  blossom  and  with  song 

And  all  the  laughing  rest. 

Sound,  herald,  sound  thy  breezy  horn! 

The  battle  half  is  won 
When  thou  dost  call  from  morn  till  morn 

The  edict  of  the  sun. 
More  like  a  stately  pomp  shall  be 

The  coming  of  thy  king, 
Since  where  thou  goest,  startled,  flee 

The  enemies  of  spring. 


[4] 


Hail !    Hail,  O  March,  that  canst  so  scare  A 

The  shadows  of  old  earth  Leaves. 

That  fields  do  bloom  and  bees  forth  fare 

And  Hope  renews  her  mirth ! 
When  thou  dost  lie  at  April's  feet, 

Like  some  true  warrior  dead, 
May  she  with  blossoms,  fair  as  sweet, 

Adorn  thy  lowly  bed. 

And  where  thy  sturdy  form  shall  sleep, 

Let  violets  arise 
And  many  a  vine  of  summer  creep, 

And  zephyr  breathe  his  sighs. 
So  shall  thy  warrior  heart,  content, 

Outslumber  Time's  despite, 
And  in  a  calmer  element 

Find  more  of  peace  and  light. 


5] 


The  Torch  of  Love, 

Leaves. 

She  smiled  on  me,  and  in  my  heart 

I  felt  the  flames  of  Troy; 
Full  well  I  knew  what  Paris  dreamed, 

And  what  was  Helen's  joy. 


[6] 


The  Awakening. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Lo!  the  grass  has  sprouted, 
And  the  buds  are  pouted 

On  my  apple-tree ; 
All  the  hopes  I  doubted, 
All  the  dreams  I  flouted, 

Stir  like  sap  in  me. 

Go,  call  in  the  neighbors, 
Sound  the  horns  and  tabors 

And  the  cymbals  sound; 
Shares  are  sprung  from  sabres! 
Crowned  are  all  my  labors, — 

And  may  yours  be  crowned. 


[7] 


If  Love  Be  There 

Leaves. 

If  love  be  there,  all  marriage  feasts 

Are  feasts  of  the  Divine, 
And  where  but  water  flowed  before, 

A  plenitude  of  wine. 


8] 


Anacreon.  £horuso( 

Leaves. 

Unto  sweet  love  and  to  the  lyre 

The  bard  of  Teos  gave  his  days. 
Within  his  heart  how  warm  the  fire! 

Upon  his  brows  how  cool  the  bays! 
His  was  the  music  of  desire, 

Played  down  a  thousand  happy  ways; 
His  was  the  soul,  in  star  attire, 

Gave  us  Elysium  in  his  lays. 


[9] 


chorus*  The  Time  O'  Year. 

Leaves. 

Oh,  what 's  the  time  o'  year  ? 

Green, —  green  things  are  growing 
Far  and  near; 

Violets  are  blowing 
Without  fear; 

Rivulets  are  flowing, 
Of  icy  thralldom  clear. 
Say,  what's  the  time  o'  year? 

Oh,  what's  the  time  o'  year? 
You,  robin,  singing  so, 
You,  swallow,  winging  so, 
You,  grasses,  springing  so, 

Say,  what's  the  time  o'  year? 

Is  April,  April,  merry  April  — 

Is  April  really  here  ? 


10] 


Here  and  Hereafter.  £horusof 

Leaves. 

If  love  with  this  short  life  doth  end, 

Be  thou  my  friend  ; 

If  love  dies  not, 

In  love  let  friendship  be  forgot. 


11 


^  Love  Was  Coming  Down  the  Lane. 


Chorus 
Leaves. 

Love  was  coming  down  the  lane, 
Winged,  rosy,  blind, 

In  his  hand  his  little  bow, 
Quiver  slung  behind. 

Now,  thought  I,  he  cannot  see: 

If  I  stand  aside, 
He  must  pass  me,  ignorant, 

Therefore  satisfied. 

Kept  I  silent  in  my  place; 

Near,  more  near,  he  came, 
While  the  beating  of  my  heart 

Fanned  each  cheek  to  flame. 

And  I,  anxious,  held  my  breath; 

He  will  pass  me  —  no; 
He  is  crying,  pretty  dear, 

It  should  not  be  so. 

Touched  with  pity,  then  quoth  I : 
"Weep,  oh,  weep  no  more!" 

And  he,  laughing,  sent  his  shaft 
To  my  bosom's  core. 


12 


Lo!   Now  the  Sun. 

Leaves. 

Lo!  now  the  Sun,  with  golden-flashing  eye, 
Doth  fire  his  rosy  altars  in  the  east, 
And  all  the  congregated  clouds  do  blush 
Response,  beholding  them  and  their  high-priest. 


13 


Till  Joy  Goes  By, 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Tears  are  the  waters  of  those  springs 
Where  Grief,  with  dark  imaginings, 
Doth  sit  and  conjure  up  the  stream  — 
Till  Joy  goes  by  with  his  bright  dream; 
When,  lo!  her  magic  is  forgot, 
And  that  sad  tide  which  was,  is  not; 
While  she  herself  melts  to  a  shade 
That  Joy  doth  banish  from  the  glade, 
As  down  those  channels  dry  he  sends 
Laughter,  with  all  his  dimpled  friends. 


14] 


The  Storm.  lrusof 

Leaves. 

This  moaning  storm,  this  crackling  sky — 

Lear  is  abroad  tonight; 
I  would  the  filial  Dawn  were  nigh, 

The  sweet  Cordelia,  Light. 


15] 


Blow  Gently,  Soul  of  Winds, 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Blow  gently,  Soul  of  Winds, 
That  in  the  garden  finds 

The  rose  but  newly  blown; 
Blow  faintly,  or  you  slay 
And  take  fore'er  away 

A  glory  not  your  own. 

Blow  softly,  more  and  more; 
Yet  to  the  rose's  core 

Delve  down,  and  if  you  see 
Therein  a  rude  worm  curled, 
Blow  coldest  in  the  world 

And  freeze  him  utterly. 


16] 


There  Ever  Is  Time. 

Leaves. 

Oh,  let  the  bird  sing, 

And  let  the  sun  shine, 
This  slumber  is  sweet 

As  Lesbian  wine! 

j  Away!  let  me  sleep; 

|  Away!  let  me  lie; 

There  ever  is  time 

To  put  our  dreams  by. 


17 


The  Song  Maker. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

He  goes  his  way,  alone,  and  no  man  knows 
How  keen  his  pleasures  or  how  vast  his  woes. 
His  plummet  sounds  all  seas,  and  from  all  height 
Receives  he  first  the  tribute  of  all  lights; 
The  past,  the  future  —  they  are  his;  the  hour 
That's  here  he  loves  as  he  doth  love  a  flower. 
The  human  heart  he  reads  as  'twere  a  book, 
And  like  a  seer  into  the  soul  doth  look, 
And  from  the  world  as  from  a  mighty  wood 
He  gathers  the  sweet  seeds  of  solitude 
(Which  also  are  the  seeds  of  Song),  and  deep 
Within  his  breast  he  sows  them,  whence  they  le 
To  such  delightful  blooms  of  melody 
That  men  do  marvel,  saying,  "We  are  free!" 
Or,  "Let  us  hope,"  or,  "Let  us  greed  forget," 
Or,  "  Farther  on  let  us  our  standard  set ; " 
For  one  before  us  all  the  mountain  thrills: 
"The  springs  of  life  are  higher  up  the  hills." 


18 


The   Wings  of  Time. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Oh,  that  this  golden  hour  with  thee 

Had  not  the  power  to  fly  away! 
Oh,  love,  that  ever  there  should  be 

So  sad  a  thing  as  yesterday! 


19] 


And  When  My  Petals  Fall. 

Leaves. 

Come,  woo  me  like  a  butterfly; 

My  heart  is  rose  today, 
And  lightly,  lightly,  lightly,  I 

Would  dream  the  hours  away. 

And  when  my  petals  fall  ? 

Oh,  now,  I  have  no  care; 
So  love  demand  them  all, 

The  heart  may  well  be  bare. 


20 


The  Lost  Rose. 

Leaves 

One  time  in  hell  there  bloomed  a  rose, 

Dropped  from  high  Heaven  by  a  child; 
The  Souls,  remembering  not  their  woes 
I  For  one  too-fleeting  moment,  smiled. 

And  up  there  went  a  cry  to  Heaven 

That  made  its  firm  foundations  quake: 

"If  roses  three  to  us  were  given, 

This  hell  were  heaven  for  their  sake." 

Then  was  in  Heaven  a  merry  shout 

As  all  the  little  children  there, 
With  roses  white,  to  blot  hell  out, 
[  Strewed  all  the  regions  of  despair. 


[21] 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

^  Had  I  the  heart  to  steal  a  kiss 


Poverty. 


That  Julia's  lips  would  never  miss, 
My  soul  a  princely  Dives  were  — 
And  yet  but  Lazarus  to  her. 


22 


A  Turkish  Love  Song. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

One  knocked  at  his  beloved's  door, 

"And  who  is  there?"  a  voice  did  say. 

"*Tis  I,"  he  answered,  "bowed  before 
The  gleaming  star  that  is  my  day." 

Then  said  the  voice:   "This  house  can  hold 

Not  thee  and  me."    The  lover  rose; 
Where  naught  but  Allah  is,  he  told, — 

In  the  Saharan  waste, —  his  woes. 

A  year  in  solitude  he  prayed, 

And  fed  his  soul  at  Allah's  shrine, 
Then  knocked  upon  the  door  and  made 

Upon  his  lips  a  holy  sign. 

"Now,  who  is  there?"  a  soft  voice  said. 

"It  is  thyself  —  thyself !"  he  cried; 
And  open  flew  the  door,  and  wed 

Were  they  ere  the  sweet  echo  died. 


23 


chorus  f 

Leaves. 

Lo  !  at  the  time  appointed 
Into  thy  presence  I  come, 

And  like  a  prophet,  anointed, 

I  stand  in  thy  Brightness,  dumb. 

I  lift  mine  eyes  to  thy  beauty, 
And,  blinded,  I  turn  away  — 

To  tread  in  the  presses  of  duty 
For  ever  and  a  day. 


The  Lover, 


24 


Love  and  Poesy. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Cupid,  once  upon  a  time, 
Vowed  that  he  would  take  to  rhyme, 
Threw  his  bow  and  barbs  away, 
Crowned  his  temples  with  some  bay, 
Filled  his  quiver  up  with  ink 
And  so  sat  him  down  to  think. 
You  had  laughed  to  see  him  then, 
Nibbling,  nibbling  at  his  pen, 
Frowning  till  his  brow  serene 
Was  a  furrowed  dark  demesne, 
All  his  curls  so  tossed  and  tangled 
As  with  Psyche  he  had  wrangled. 
In  his  cheeks  —  no  roses  there; 
On  his  lips  the  wan  of  care ; 
Years  and  years  he  older  seemed 
Ere  he  had  a  bird's  nap  dreamed. 
Not  one  little  line  he  wrote, 
Then  with,  oh,  so  sweet  a  note 
Said  he,  "  Cupid  cannot  be 
Lord  of  Love  and  Poesy ; 
All  his  time  to  love  must  go. 
He  forgets  his  metres  so, 
Useless  't  is  for  him  to  scan 
All  the  passions  of  a  man ; 
Enough  to  bid  him  throb  and  thrill, 
Come  what  may  and  come  what  will : 

[251 


A  Throb  and  thrill  in  Beauty's  train 

Chorus  of 

Leaves.  Though  he  win  him  but  disdain. 

Whereupon  the  tousled  bay 
From  his  temples  off  he  tore, 
Threw  his  ink  and  quill  away : 
"Poet  will  I  be  no  more, 
But  with  poets  when  they  sing, 
Faith,  I'll  go  a-journeying ; 
Mount  the  airy  heights  they  gain, 
Spur  them  on  to  lofty  strain, 
Mix  and  mingle  draughts  divine 
That  shall  fire  their  every  line 
With  a  music  pure  and  high, 
Sweet  as  roses  when  day  closes ; 
Such  is  love  and  such  am  I," 
Saying  which  he  said  "  Good-bye. 


26 


Fear  Not.  aorusof 

Leaves. 

O  leaf  that  runnest  fast 

Along  my  garden  path, 
Why  fearest  thou  the  blast 

And  the  bald  year's  wrath? 

Fear  not;  all  things  are  old, 

And  all  do  seek  repose; 
Drink  deeply  of  the  cold  — 

And  dream  of  April's  rose. 


27 


Send  Round  the  Cup, 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Come,  fill  the  golden  loving-cup 

With  amber  winking  wine, 
And  send  it  gayly  on  its  round, 

The  hour — the  hour's  divine. 
Awake  the  harps  to  music  sweet 

And  scatter  roses  deep, — 
A  health  to  Beauty  and  her  train, 

Away,  away  with  sleep. 
Abroad  do  sing  the  nightingales, 

The  moon  is  coming  up, 
And  twice  a  thousand  stars  have  bloomed  — 

Send  round  the  loving-cup ! 

'Tis  summertime,  the  jewelled  date 

Of  youth  and  joy  and  love, 
When  cheeks  do  glow  and  eyes  do  shine 

And  lips  a  cherry  prove. 
Another  round!   and  let  the  song 

Be  merry  that  you  sing, 
The  hours  are  swift  —  let  them  be  bright 

And  happiness  be  king; 
And  let  your  hearts  with  rhythm  beat 

And  let  your  souls  be  free, 
For  life  is  hope  and  hope  is  bliss 

And  bliss  is  melody. 


28 


In  Season.  £horusot 

Leaves. 

'Twas  on  a  day  full  forty  birds 

Did  in  my  garden  mate, 
That  I,  with  just  as  flutter-words 

As  theirs,  sealed  my  sweet  fate. 


[29] 


Cupid,  at  Me  Laughing, 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Cupid,  at  me  laughing 

As  I  happened  by  — 
Cupid,  slyly  chaffing 

As  I  chanced  to  sigh, 
Of  his  darts  I  stript  him, 

Shut  him  in  a  cell; 
When  he  wept  I  whipt  him, 

And  I  whipt  him  well. 

Woe  is  me!   my  passion 

Drove  me  from  his  grace; 
Hence,  behold  my  ashen 

Pallor  and  sad  face. 
Now,  when  by  I  wander, 

Cupid  stares,  alas! 
And  I,  fond  and  fonder 

Of  him,  weep  and  pass. 


[30 


The  Woman  Speaks. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Because  you  love  me,  sir,  so  much 

You  have  no  tongue  to  shout  it? 
Pray,  love  me  just  a  trifle  less 

And  tell  me  all  about  it. 


31 


chorus  of  Ashes  of  Dreams, 

Leaves. 

Hope,  like  a  clown  in  motley  dressed, 
Keeps  up  a  chatter  in  my  breast, 
Laughs  at  my  sorrows,  mocks  my  tears, 
Shakes  a  child-rattle  at  my  fears, 
And,  pointing  to  some  happy  stars, 
Bids  me  forget  my  flaming  scars 
And  pluck  the  thorns  that  pierce  me  still; 
And  so  my  cup  with  nectar  fill. 
No  doubt  this  sage  advice  is  good, 
And  I  would  take  it  if  I  could. 
But  what  is  hope  when  love  is  dead? 
When  all  the  petals  bright  are  shed, 
Whose  hand  so  skilful  as  to  stud 
The  brow  of  Autumn  with  a  bud  ? 
What  happy  star  can  light  again 
The  ashes  of  the  dreams  of  men? 


[32] 


Occupied. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

A  very  minster  is  thy  heart, 

Wherein  so  many  dead  loves  be, 
I  fancy  that  when  I  depart 

There'll  be  no  corner,  love,  for  me. 


33] 


Roses, 

Leaves. 

These  are  his  roses; 

Where  is  his  heart? 
His  gift  discloses 

Consummate  art : 
Friendship  exposes ;  — 

Is  love  his  part? 
These  are  his  roses ; 

Where  is  his  heart? 


34 


Hyssop. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

I  cannot  bear  your  load  of  grief, 

Nor  you  my  joy  lift  up; 
The  dew  that  gleams  on  my  bright  leaf 

Were  hyssop  in  your  cup. 


[35] 


choru.fi  Immunity, 

Leaves. 

I  am  a  sea  nymph,  and  I  dwell 
In  the  pearl  palace  of  a  shell. 
When  pleasant  is  the  sky,  I  sing, 
At  my  bright  portal,  to  the  king 
Of  the  great  tides;  but  when  the  blast 
Piles  up  the  waves  to  mountains  vast, 
I  keep  my  house  in  a  safe  cove 
And  dream  of  the  calm  things  I  love. 

0  mortal,  when  perchance  you  find 
My  home  up-driven  by  the  wind 
And  the  over-angered,  hard  sea, 

1  pray  thee  be  not  rough  with  me; 
Preserve  my  house,  and  so  shall  I 
Desert  it  not,  but  ever  try 

(If  thou  wilt  listen  to  my  lay) 

To  please  with  what  sweet  songs  I  may ! 

But  if  thou  lovest  me  full  well, 

Give  to  its  element  the  shell, 

And  ever  after,  night  and  morn, 

For  thee  shall  Triton  blow  his  horn, 

And  so  proclaim  thee  rightly  free 

From  the  huge  perils  of  the  sea. 


[36] 


The  House. 

This  I've  found  out,  beyond  a  doubt 
A  house  without  a  woman  in  it 
Is  just  a  nest  without  the  linnet; 
It  turns  to  lumber  in  a  minute. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 


[37] 


Violet. 


0  frail  and  unassuming  flower, 

How  sleeps  my  love  below? 
Thy  virtues  seem  a  part  of  her, 

Thine  were  her  eyes,  I  know. 
Her  heart  was  kind,  her  manner  sweet, 

She  had  a  timid  air; 

1  know  that  love  made  up  her  soul, 

And  she  was  heavenly  fair. 

1  know  that  she  is  sleeping  now 

Beneath  the  mound  you  grace, 
And  when  1  look  into  your  eyes 

I  seem  to  see  her  face; 
Her  spirit  pure  within  you  dwells, 

And,  silent,  teaches  me 
What  loveliness  to  time  belongs, 

What  to  eternity. 


38 


I  Question  Not. 


Fate,  I  question  not  thy  blows, 
Fall  when  fall  they  may; 

I'm  at  peace  with  all  my  foes, 
I  am  old  and  grey. 

Fate,  I  thank  thee  for  thy  fare, 

Years  of  ample  cheer. 
Strike,  and  leave  me  cold  and  bare; 

Strike  —  but  find  no  fear. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 


[39] 


The  Old  Moon. 

Leaves. 

I  wonder  what  the  old  Moon  thinks 
As,  gaunt  and  grey,  she  views 

The  fresh  young  Morn  that,  blushing,  drinks 
Cool  cups  of  lucent  dews. 

As  in  the  sun-drenched  sky  she  pales, 
And  ghostlike  onward  goes, 

Sighs  she  for  her  late-glamoured  vales 
And  the  sweet-sleeping  rose? 

Or  are  her  thoughts  of  sadder  things  — 
Of  darkness  and  the  tomb? 

Remembers  she,  or  not,  she  springs 
From  her  dead  self  to  bloom? 

O  Life,  that  buds  and  blooms  and  dies  — 
How  know  we  death  is  real, 

When  we,  not  watchers  in  all  skies, 
All  truths  can  not  unseal? 


[40] 


The  Wreath. 

To  Worth  I  flung  a  wreath  of  bay ; 

He  looked,  he  smiled ;  he  did  not  bend ; 
But  Craft  stooped  down  along  the  way, 

Picked  up  and  wore  it  to  the  end. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 


[41 


chorus  $  A  Fairy  Song, 


A 

of 
Leaves. 


Welcome!  welcome!   fairies  all. 
Welcome!  welcome!  to  this  hall  — 
To  this  still  and  moonlit  glade. 
Here  shall  all  your  troubles  fade; 
Here,  in  mead,  shall  drown  your  cares, 
And  ye  breathe  ambrosial  airs. 
Ho,  you  players,  music  sweet! 
Come,  you  dancers,  flash  your  feet! 
Scatter  blossoms!  and  to  each, 
Wine  of  our  best  vintage  reach. 
Welcome  one  and  welcome  all 
To  the  fairies'  festal  hall! 
Ho!  you  warders  of  this  land, 
On  our  leafy  borders  stand; 
Keep  us  guard  till  morning-star 
That  no  imp  our  revels  mar; 
Let  no  slight  intruder  pass; 
Pierce  him  with  a  spear  of  grass, 
Bind  him  with  a  chain  of  thistle  — 
Till  the  first  red  robin  whistle. 


42 


Wingless. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 


This  house  was  once  the  home  of  Youth, 
'Tis  now  the  home  of  Age  — 

Or  has  the  butterfly,  forsooth, 
Grown  wingless  in  his  cage? 


[43] 


Griselda. 

Leaves. 

I  would  not  try  thee  as  was  tried 

The  patient  wife  Grisel; 
I  know  that  thou  couldst  do  her  tasks 

As  sweetly  and  as  well. 

And  if  I  knew  that  thou  in  all 
Her  trials  hard  shouldst  fail, 

Too  much  I  love  thee,  dearest  one, 
To  see  thee  pine  and  pale. 

Yea,  more,  methinks,  I'd  love  thee,  sweet, 
If  thou  her  lot  shouldst  flout, 

And  say :  "  He  loves  but  ill  the  rose 
Who  plucks  one  petal  out." 


44 


To  Pygmalion. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Oh,  foolish  one  to  bring  to  life 

The  dream  of  thy  poetic  skill; 
A  million  women  were  thy  wife 

To  one  that  could  thy  dream  fulfill! 


45 


Where  Sleep  the  Leaves. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

An  unseen  shepherd  is  the  wind, 
And  singing  as  he  goes 

He  drives,  wherever  he  may  find, 
The  petals  of  the  rose. 

All  huddling  on  into  the  fold 

Of  the  cold  night,  they  run  — 

To  where,  when  winter's  lean  and  old, 
The  crocus  finds  the  sun. 


46] 


Little  Lives. 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

How  many  little  lives,  alas! 

Die  with  sad  summer,  in  the  grass; 

How  many  little  songs  grow  still, 

Because  no  more  the  blossoms  spill 

Sweet  nectars  for  them,  morn  and  eve  — 

Because  the  chill  winds  round  them  grieve! 

Yet  I  live  on  into  the  cold, 

Deep  snow  —  till  that  I  wander,  old, 

Till  I  am  Winter's  brother,  white, 

And  longing  for  the  warm  spring  light. 

Not  long,  not  long,  O  little  friends, 
The  triumph  that  our  Mother  lends 
To  me, —  an  hour,  a  day,  a  year, 
And  I  shall  sleep  upon  my  bier 
As  full  of  peace  as  there  is  need, 
With  that  same  rest  ye  do  possess, 
Hid  in  the  bosom  of  the  mead 
And  sealed  in  dim  f orgetfulness ! 


[47] 


Delusion 

Leave*. 

'Tis  ever  the  moth  and  the  flame,  my  dear, 

'Tis  ever  delusive  things 
That,  yearning,  we  follow  until,  my  dear, 

We  lose  our  golden  wings. 

And  like  the  rash  Icarian  youth, 

We  fall  in  a  sorry  sea, 
Thereafter  to  wander,  a  lonesome  ghost 

Of  that  which  we  longed  to  be. 


[48] 


To  Be  Immortal.  £horus  o( 

Leaves. 

To  be  immortal  —  it  were  dross, 

Aye,  it  were  immortal  loss 

To  live  for  ever,  if  we  might 

Not  climb  (not  soar)  from  vale  to  height. 

To  be  immortal — just  to  dwell 

In  heaven  were  not  heaven  but  hell. 

And  so  with  love.     Progression  is 

The  very  essence  of  its  bliss; 

If  it  grow  not,  then  must  it  fade  — 

Be  not  Love's  self  but  just  Love's  shade. 


[49] 


Bring  Hither  Your  Roses, 


A 

Chorus  of 
Leaves. 

Bring  hither  your  roses 

And  hither  your  rue, 
And  twine  me  two  garlands 

All  wet  with  the  dew; 
The  roses  for  Beauty, 

O'ergiven  to  doom, 
Shall  form  a  bright  chaplet 

To  lie  on  her  tomb. 

The  rue  round  our  temples 

We'll  bind  for  our  grief, 
To  gently  remind  us 

That  beauty  is  brief, 
That  still  we  adore  it, 

And  long  shall  adore, 
Though  its  splendor  is  faded, 

Its  glory  no  more. 

Whose  heart  is  so  hollow, 

Whose  soul  is  so  bare 
That  never  the  spirit 

Of  beauty  breathes  there? 
Oh,  none  is  so  lonely 

And  none  is  so  poor, 
If  only  her  shadow 

May  brighten  his  door! 


50 


So  pluck  the  bright  roses  A 

Chorus  of 

And  gather  the  rue,  Leaves. 

And  weave  me  two  garlands  g 

All  wet  with  the  dew; 
The  roses  for  Beauty 

That  lies  on  her  bier, 
The  rue  for  the  ransom 

Of  many  a  tear. 


51 


i 


Love    Knows. 

Leavet. 

Love  knows,  Love  knows  his  unseen  dart 

Shall  wound  us  when  his  bow  he  bends. 
Unto  the  strength  of  every  heart 

To  every  heart  some  grief  he  sends, 
For  unto  him  is  given  the  task 
To  tear  from  the  white  soul  the  mask 
That  shrouds  it;  his  to  measure,  sound 
Its  depths  and  learn  just  how  profound 
Or  shallow  'tis.     For  till  he  know 
Our  full  capacity  for  woe, 
He  cannot  tell  how  great  —  or  small  — 
The  joy  must  be  to  quench  it  all. 


[52] 


Finis.  Chorus  of 

Leaves. 

.     Dance  your  last  dance,  you  little  leaves, 

Shake  your  red  sandals  in  the  sun, 
For  even  now  the  cold  air  weaves 
A  snowy  shroud  for  every  one. 

Fast  fall  the  flakes  that  soon  shall  hide; 

Dance  your  last  dance,  you  happy  fays, 
And  so  let  me,  what  e'er  betide, 

Go  to  life's  end  down  mirthful  ways. 


[53] 


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